The Counterfeit Cowgirl (6 page)

“Mmmmmmphhh,” Felicity said.

Aaron ignored her protest. He felt her hands come up around his shoulders, but he was busy exploring the rough feel of her braces with his tongue.

The braces enticed him. Slipping his tongue between her upper lip and her teeth, he stroked the gleaming metal bands and the smooth enamel of her teeth, experiencing the contrasts and finding them doubly fascinating.

He had never held a woman as slender as Felicity before. The feel of her willowy strength in his arms set his blood on fire. In fact, he was so interested in the perfect way she fit into his arms that it took him a moment to register the rap of her boot heel on his instep.

“Ouch! What was that for?” he demanded.

Felicity whisked herself out of his arms the moment they loosened. “That was for excessive handling of the merchandise. Careful, Mr. Whitaker, you might wind up having to make an unexpected purchase.”

Aaron let out a sharp crack of appreciative laughter.

“Not me, sweetheart. I’m very careful where I buy.”

“That’s open for debate.”

“Felicity, come see Michelangelo,” Pete called from a stall down the stable aisle. “I just brushed him so he’ll look pretty for our ride tomorrow.”

“I’d better do the same to Rhyolite,” Aaron said. “Otherwise, he’ll have a hard time competing with those fancy cowgirl outfits of yours.”

Felicity viewed Michelangelo’s shining coat. Aaron noted the resigned expression on her face and grinned inwardly. She was skilled at manipulation. He had to hand it to her. Even though he knew she had probably achieved her object in getting him to kiss her, she didn’t seem the least bit interested in her success.

If he hadn’t known better, he’d have been piqued.

She remained thoughtful and largely silent when he escorted her back to the barbecue and seated her at a picnic table between the two boys with a plate of his excellent barbecue. Deborah sat across from them, smiling and at ease. Felicity appeared to have a list of items stored in her brain that enabled her to strike up a conversation with anyone.

For the second time that evening, he had to cut off his recently divorced new-car salesman, Grover Madison, who bore down on Felicity with the look of a man who had staked out new territory. Grover didn’t need to be chasing a woman like Felicity unless he planned on selling her a new car, and so Aaron intended to tell him, first thing Monday morning.

“How’s the barbecue, Miss Clayton?” Aaron asked. “Is it done to your standards?”

He sat down opposite her, enjoying the way she glanced up then deliberately looked back down at her plate.

“The barbecue is perfect, thank you.” She nibbled a bite of the succulent beef. “You sing very well. Have you ever thought about singing professionally?”

Aaron flashed her a pleased grin. She hadn’t been as disinterested as he’d thought.

“I spent a few years playing every honky-tonk in Nashville, but I sounded too much like Johnny Cash,” he said. “About the time I wised up and developed my own style, my uncle asked me to come here and take over the car dealership.”

“You were happy to leave, I suppose.”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” He studied her, puzzled by something in her attitude. “I decided life on the road wasn’t for me. It can be pretty rough, you know.”

“Is that right?” Felicity delved into her barbecue.

“You sound as though you don’t believe me,” Aaron said. “Why not?”

Felicity looked up. “Why shouldn’t I believe you?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Aaron watched the expression in her wide, brown eyes. “Most women are fascinated with the struggles of wannabe country singers.”

“And I’m not?” Felicity shrugged. “I guess I prefer the genuine article.”

There was a beat of silence, then Aaron threw back his head and roared with laughter. “How many genuine articles do you know, Miss Clayton?”

“She lives in Nashville, Aaron,” Deborah said. “Naturally she must see a lot of country stars.”

“She’s right.” Felicity’s lips curved irrepressibly into a grin. “It so happens I know dozens of country singers.”

“In that case, how about taking a turn on the stage?”

“Sorry. Your guests would get sick and run home. With any luck, they’d blame it on the barbecue and tell the police you tried to poison them.”

“Are you trying to tell me you can’t sing?”

“I’m absolutely tone deaf.” She shrugged. “My mother can’t understand it. She’s had two voice coaches check me out, and they both agree I can’t carry a tune.”

Aaron broke into fresh laughter. Of all the replies he might have expected, that hadn’t been one of them.

“Felicity can too sing.” Joey frowned across the table at his uncle. “Felicity can do anything.”

“I sing only to people who love me.” Felicity smiled tenderly at the little boy. “They’re the only people who can stand my singing.”

On stage, Ruthie Fisher launched into “Protecting My Baby,” Becky Lozano’s current hit.

“Are you all right?” Aaron asked quietly. “Do you have a headache?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Do Becky Lozano songs always affect you like this?”

Felicity stared at him, shocked.

“This is the second time I’ve seen you actually cringe, and each time, Becky Lozano was playing.”

“It isn’t Becky Lozano,” she said, at last. “It’s the song.”

“‘Protecting My Baby?’” Aaron listened to the song a moment then grinned sympathetically. “I see. Everyone thinks Becky is singing about her lover, but it’s actually the song of a mother whose child is growing up. Reminds you of home, I suppose.”

Felicity nodded, and a faint, wry smile played across her full mouth. “You’re right. I quit liking the song as soon as I listened closely to the words.”

“Exactly.” Aaron cut a piece of barbecue from the bone for Joey and transferred it to the little boy’s plate. “Are you otherwise a fan of Becky Lozano, Miss Clayton?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“In that case, you’ll be interested in the news Grover is about to announce.”

Felicity froze. “You don’t mean … ?”

“That’s right.” Aaron nodded, inordinately pleased with her expression of blank astonishment. “Becky Lozano has accepted a last minute invitation to fill in as our celebrity entertainer at the Rice Festival this year. Would you like a chance to meet her?”

A moment later, Felicity recovered her poise. “Thanks, but I’ll probably give the festival a miss.” She fastened her gaze on her plate. “Besides, I’ve already met Ms. Lozano.”

“Mama, how could you do this to me?” Felicity cried into the telephone receiver. “You said you weren’t going to come near this town until I’ve had a chance to get this house into better condition.”

The telephone had summoned her as she walked in her front door. Knowing who was on the other end of the line heightened Felicity’s sense of injury, not to mention her headache.

“Now, darlin’.” Becky Lozano’s lilting Kentucky accent always grew extremely pronounced when she performed. When it came to explaining her actions to her daughter, she was definitely on stage. “Surely you don’t expect your mama to stay away from her little girl for weeks and weeks. When Randy couldn’t make the show, I just thought to myself, I thought, Becky, you could do that show, and you could see your baby at the same time.”

“Don’t hand me that,” Felicity grumbled. “I know you made some sort of deal with Randy.”

Becky laughed warmly. “Well, honey, what else could I do? I needed an excuse, didn’t I? It’s been at least two weeks since I’ve kissed your pretty face.”

As always, Becky’s heavy use of honeyed words slipped past Felicity’s mental barricades. She collapsed on one of the rickety kitchen chairs, and groaned in protest.

Being a famous singer who was often separated from her daughter didn’t mean Becky Lozano wasn’t a mother tigress who would die for her cub. Three different cellular telephone companies made fortunes off Becky, and Becky’s daughter usually felt as if her mother was in the next room, even if she was actually on her tour bus on the other side of the continent.

Felicity rubbed her aching forehead and wondered what it was about her vacation in Texas that sent Becky into a spasm of motherly anxiety. After all, Becky was in Texas about as often as she was in Tennessee, especially now that her career had finally blossomed.

“Now, sugar,” Becky said in brisk tones, “just you calm your little self down and listen to your mama. In a couple of weeks, you’ll have that house cleaned out, right? Your mama is coming, baby. You and me can have a grand old time just visiting and talking girl talk.” She added on a practical note, “We can tie my appearance in with the Cosmic Cowgirl Boutique. Everybody can come look at my clothes and get an autograph and a business card. Who’s more cowgirl than a country-western singer?”

The businesswoman in Felicity acknowledged the selling power of a Becky Lozano personal appearance and the attendant print interviews, but this was a case where she’d like to be long gone before anybody found out she was Becky’s daughter. At the same time, Felicity didn’t have it in her to deny her mother the comfort of being able to see her whenever Becky felt the need.

“All right, Mama,” she said, resigned to the fact of her own soft-heartedness. “I’d better get some posters made, advertising the boutique and our web site. Maybe that picture of you in the fringed buckskin outfit — ”

Becky shrieked. “Everyone’ll think I’m a hundred years old. You just wait, sugar. I’ll get Chester to send you one of the new shots. I look twenty, I promise you.”

“Great, Mama,” Felicity said automatically. She rubbed her forehead again. “By the way, what’s the secret of staying on the back of a horse?”

“A horse!” Becky almost screamed the words. “Don’t you dare try and ride a horse again. Are you trying to give your poor mama a heart attack? Listen, sweetie, you don’t need to prove you’re brave to your mama; your mama knows already.” Becky heaved a great sigh. “Law, you’re just like your daddy.”

“No, I’m not.” She should have known better than to mention horses, but Becky had been an accomplished horsewoman in her youth. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”

“Well, quit it. I won’t have my baby getting her poor little face all busted up again.” Becky muttered darkly about false friends and added, “And don’t you dare go buying yourself a horse. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mama.” Now she’d done it. She’d be lucky if Becky didn’t turn up on her doorstep that evening, determined to prevent Felicity from thinking another thought about horses. “The last thing I have time for right now is a horse.”

“Good,” Becky said. “How was the barbecue, sweetie? Any eligible bachelors?”

“Come on, Mama. The barbecue was business.” Perhaps Becky would forget about horses in favor of casing the eligible bachelors in Foxe.

“You ain’t goin’ blind, are you, sugar?” Becky asked.

“Mama, I do not attend parties like a buzzard looking for prey,” Felicity said. “I’m more like a politician. I leave a business card in each hand I shake.”

“You take after your daddy, sweetie,” Becky said fondly. “He could have talked a dog off a meat wagon.”

“Puh-leeze, Mama.” Suspicion struck … Becky was taking the horse matter all too well. “Where are you?”

“Where am I?” She heard sounds, as if Becky was looking about for a road sign. “I’m on my bus and just coming into Huntsville, Alabama, angel. Randy and me are having us a fine old time.”

“I knew Randy was in on this,” Felicity grumbled.

She hung up the phone thirty minutes later, feeling certain she had distracted Becky’s mind from horses.

Her own problem still loomed. In less than twenty hours, she was going to have to mount one of the animals and attempt to ride it while at the same time imitating a super-cool cowgirl who had been born on horseback. Ordinarily, Felicity would have enjoyed the challenge. She just wished this particular one wasn’t quite so terrifying.

It was her own fault. She’d let Aaron box her in until she couldn’t refuse to ride without looking like a coward. Pride, as Becky was fond of saying, always got a woman kicked in the teeth.

The telephone rang an hour later while Felicity was brewing a cup of nerve-soothing chamomile tea. “Yes, Mama?”

“No horses,” Becky said. “Do you hear me?”

“Horses?” Felicity remained wonderfully innocent. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Becky let an ominous silence build then artfully broke the tension as Felicity opened her mouth in another denial. “You’re up to something, Felicity Clayton. Don’t you think your mama knows?”

“Mama, I am not buying a horse, I promise you.”

“I don’t want you touching a horse,” Becky said. “I don’t want you even looking at a horse. If I have to come down there … ”

Felicity promised immediately to eschew all horses forever and ever. Pointing out to Becky that she was over twenty-one and had been making her own decisions for years would have been unnecessarily cruel. She had long ago accepted Becky’s need to give motherly guidance.

“No horses,” Becky repeated, and hung up.

Felicity noted that Becky didn’t sound particularly satisfied and mentally kicked herself. She should have known better than to mention horses in the first place. She got out her address book and called each of her five cousins scattered around the state of Tennessee, and chattered about her vacation while she worked the conversation around to horseback riding. The tactic failed five times.

“You know what happened the last time you rode a horse,” cousin Jennifer Mills warned. “Forget it, Felicity.”

Well, she argued inwardly as she prepared for bed, so what if everyone found out she was a phony whose knees turned to jelly at the sight of a horse? She was selling image, not fact. Nobody really
wanted
to be a cowgirl these days.

But something inside wouldn’t let Felicity confess to cowardice and abandon the ride. She’d have to face a horse down one of these days. It might as well be tomorrow, when she had Aaron present to provide the necessary grit.

Felicity climbed into the lumpy bed, chuckling in spite of her fears. With Aaron’s contempt to spur her on, she might ride like Annie Oakley.